


Poem: Cinderella

by PhantomSpade



Series: Fairytale Horrors [8]
Category: Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Original Work
Genre: Blood, Child Abuse, Creepy, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dark Fantasy, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Glass Slippers (Cinderella), Heavy Petting, Lust, Minor Character Death, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Kissing, Nudity, Other, Physical Abuse, Sexual Content, So beware, Step-parents, Step-siblings, Suicidal Thoughts, Wish Fulfillment, basically abuse, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-07-28 15:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16244867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomSpade/pseuds/PhantomSpade
Summary: The story was about a young girl named Cinderella who lived happily with her father until he married a cruel woman with two equally cruel daughters. When the father died, Cinderella was forced to become a maid and served her stepmother and stepsisters. Then when a ball was held, a fairy godmother granted Cinderella a dress, a carriage, and a pair of glass slippers that ultimately gained her a happy ending with her Prince Charming.But that's not how it all goes down in this dark retelling....





	1. Pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cinderella (c) Brothers Grimm

There was a young little girl  
and her kind old father for a merchant.  
The two of them had lived together in a  
little house of wealth and happiness. 

The girl was named Cinderella,  
for she was called for once  
getting covered in soft, grainy ashes  
from head to toe.

It had always been only two:  
Cinderella's mother, the woman  
who had gifted her with her beauty  
and compassion, was taken by Death

through a fatal sickness.  
A tragic even it was for them,  
yet they still had each other to love.  
Cinderella wouldn't have it any other way. 

But alas, those days came into an end.  
Father came also a woman who  
possessed no heart of gold.  
Cold, hard, ruthless; no love. 

Her two daughters were no better.  
Two halves of vanity, one was  
a temperamental viper, the other  
was a little snapping turtle. 

Cinderella never understood what  
her father saw in that woman  
and her two daughters.  
They were no longer a family of two. 

Father was oblivious; he was  
never around to see the damage  
his new wife and daughters  
inflicted on his only treasure.

They've used words to pain her.  
"You're as beautiful as the ashes  
beneath our feet." "You don't know  
left from right!" "Your presence is unneeded!"

Such minor insults, yet Cinderella  
was wounded. Father never saw  
her pain; he had meant well, but  
he had unwittingly brought pain on her. 

Cinderella had once wondered:  
'Does Father not love me no more?  
Is Stepmother the only one  
he truly cares for? Why?'

Another tragedy struck Cinderella.  
Father had fallen sick, not unlike  
Mother before him. He was confined  
to the bed, life leaving him slowly. 

He called for Cinderella's mother,  
living in an illusion of life before  
her passing, where all three  
were living in bliss and love. 

Cinderella cried grieving tears  
as Death came and claimed his soul.  
Stepmother and the Stepsisters  
had only watched with no hearts. 

Father's death had changed Cinderella's  
life for the worst. The insults grew worse,  
then they had forced her into servitude.  
She wasn't family: only a lowly maid. 

Clean the table, wash their clothes,  
cook their dinner, feed the animals,  
chore after chore, they gave her.  
She wasn't allowed to take any breaks. 

Cinderella began to yearn for Mother  
and Father. Their presence was wanted,  
yet she could no longer have them  
unless she allows Death to claim her.

One day, she made a mistake: the tea  
cup from the tray she was carrying fell  
met the floor, breaking into a hundred shards.  
Stepmother saw with cold fury in her eyes.

Cinderella was dragged down to the  
dark cellar where the ashes had slept.  
It was also where she rested;  
The Stepsisters had taken her bed.

Stepmother commanded her like   
a queen; one with disdain and envy.  
"Strip off all your garments, Cinderella.  
Bare yourself to me."

And so she did. She shedded her rags,   
shame shuddering in her body   
as she peeled away anything   
that covered her fair skin. 

There, she stood bare, her breasts   
all but coming to bloom, the lips  
of her virginity barely covered   
by her small hands. 

Stepmother had a whip in  
her gloved hands. The whip   
hit lightly at the cool leather  
that shielded her hands. 

"Now Cinderella,"   
The whip raised above.  
Cinderella knew what would happen.  
"When you make a mess," 

Gaze turned steely and   
filled up with unspoken malice.  
"You will serve your punishment  
until I say you are done."

The whip struck down  
and slapped against skin.   
Cinderella let out a cry,   
the pain stinging her shoulder.

"Hush, child. It has only began."  
Another slap from the whip,   
against her bare hip.  
Cinderella bit back a scream.

Stepmother kept whipping her.  
One, two, three, four, five, six.  
Her hips, her thighs, her breasts,   
Cinderella's body was burning red.

She took cover to the floor, but   
Stepmother kept on going.   
The whip started cutting into  
Cinderella's body, letting blood out.

Time seemed to have passed,   
as Stepmother finally ceased.  
The whip in her hand was tainted  
with the blood and ash of Cinderella's.

Cinderella laid on the floor. Her   
body was a ruined painting,   
marred by her own blood,   
the ash trying to sip into the cuts.

She finally released her voice.  
"Stepmother, why? Why   
must you be so cruel to   
your own daughter?"

A glare and scowl of hatred.  
"You are no daughter of mine.  
You are nothing more than a   
lowly maid only to serve."

She turned away, but she wasn't  
done. "You are that woman's child.  
It is little wonder that your father  
passed. Because you pained him."

Cinderella's heart was sent into  
a spiral. Stepmother left her   
to wallow into the ashes,  
naked and bleeding.

She cried and cried, her  
heart was shattering.   
She yearned for the love  
of her beloved parents.

She made a desperate wish.   
She hoped that something   
good will come her way...  
Or lest she let Death take her away.


	2. Pt. 2

The years had gone by.  
Cinderella, out came the girl,  
and in, a woman of beauty.  
A beauty she was.

The scars made from  
the hands of Stepmother,  
some faded, some fresh.  
Painted her ash-kissed body.

Even with the rags she  
wore, Cinderella was  
a beautiful maiden  
in the making.

Alas, Stepmother,  
Eldest Stepsister,  
and Youngest Stepsister,  
they did not see a beauty.

Cinderella was made to  
serve as their maid.  
She was not family,  
she was not to be loved.

"Cinderella! Clean the  
dishes!" "Cinderella,  
tend to the chickens!"  
"Dust everything in the house!"

Chore after chore after chore,  
she cleaned, cooked, dusted,  
swept, washed. Barely caught  
her breath, barely could rest.

Everyday, Cinderella would  
seek sanctuary in her dreams.  
She still yearned for her parents,  
wanted to feel their warmth again.

The scars wrapping her wrists  
had grown, sometimes a call  
for Death to seek her, to  
reunite her with her family.

The punishment were still there.  
A broken wash, a speck of dust  
not swept, no food was prepared,  
Cinderella would get a beating.

Stepmother has her undress  
until she was bare, her genitalia  
on display rather shamefully,  
evident by her tears and red cheeks.

Each whip, a new mark was born  
on her scarred body. Red and pink  
painted the surface of the gray-tint  
white of the beauty before herself.

It wasn't just the physical scars  
she had received. Her heart and  
her mind had gained scars from  
the brutal words of her step-family.

"You are an insult to the whores."  
"No man would take you away."  
"You mother and father died because  
they regretted your existence." 

Cinderella had prayed and prayed  
for a savior to sweep her away.  
It was to be someone loving,  
or it was to be Death.

One day, Cinderella was cleaning  
the grease-infested kitchen.  
The sound of Youngest rang  
throughout the little mansion. 

"Mother! Sister! The royal  
family will be hosting a ball  
at this eve's! The Prince is  
seeking for a bride!"

Eldest and Youngest were  
lustful of the Prince, but  
Stepmother was greedy  
for the wealth that would come.

"We must prepare ourselves  
for the ball. Either of you must  
catch the Prince's eye, if you  
wish to be his bride." 

Cinderella heard, her lifeless  
eyes shone with excitement.  
A ball was a joyous event,  
she yearned to seek the Prince. 

"Cinderella! Wash and sew our  
gowns! Make haste! Do not  
waste time, lest you want to  
get a whipping from Mother!"

Despite her orders, the maid  
formulated her own plan.  
The royal family requested  
every presence of woman. 

Her only chance of happiness,  
she would take it.

Whilst prepping her stepsisters  
dresses, Cinderella had prepared  
her own, made with the beads  
and sashes of Eldest and Youngest.

Evening had approached. The dresses  
were finished; and so was Cinderella's.  
It concealed her scars, showing only  
the beauty on the surface.

She twirled in delight of her appearance.  
"This will be my only chance!  
Mother, Father, pray for me that I  
will finally make my escape!"

She ran down to join her  
step-family. They were  
dresses beautifully, but  
they paled next to Cinderella.

"Mother! Dear sisters!  
I am ready to join you to   
thee royal ball!"  
Cinderella radiated pure beauty.

Eldest and Youngest stared in   
disgust and disbelief.   
Stepmother showed no   
emotion than cold calculation. 

"Mother, surely you will not let  
this maid accompany us to   
the ball? Her presence will   
draw the Prince's eye away!"

Stepmother silenced her daughters.   
Her smile, aimed at Cinderella, was   
of cruel deceit. She had an idea,   
yet Cinderella did not catch it.

"Cinderella, that is a lovely   
dress you have on. But those  
beads, those sashes, they look   
like your sisters, no?"

Eldest and Youngest gave her   
a look over. A gasp of realization,   
a glare of fury. They have figured   
it out. Envy had struck. 

"You are a filthy thief!"   
The beads were sent flying.  
"How desperate and pathetic!"   
Sashes were ripped off. 

Eldest and Youngest dug  
their hands into the fabric  
of what was a beautiful dress.   
Now becoming a shredded mess. 

The shreds gave way to the scars   
Cinderella had tried to hide away.   
The dress now barely covered   
everything, sending her to shame. 

Stepmother gave an icy stare,   
followed by the cruel cackles   
of her Eldest and Youngest   
after they did their task. 

"No Prince will be willing   
to spare you a glance.   
Your beauty and virginity  
has already been soiled." 

And so, Cinderella was left  
by her lonesome, skin   
nearly exposed, and tears   
starting to fall. 

She ran out to the garden.  
She could not care if anyone  
saw how indecent she looked,  
Cinderella was lost of hope. 

She curled herself onto the   
stone-cold fountain, letting   
her years fall into the cold,   
unfeeling water beneath her. 

"Mother, Father...how long   
do I hope? How long do I   
keep living until I let my   
desire for Death claim me?  
Please, I yearn for your love,   
Your warmth, your words.   
Please help me seek escape..." 

Little did she know that soon,   
her hopeful wish would be granted.


	3. Pt. 3

"My my, why the tears, my dear child?"  
A voice of honeyed melody, the  
kind that Cinderella's mother used  
to soothe her even on her dying breath.

The maiden attempted to seek out  
that sweet voice. "Who is there?  
what do you seek from me?"  
Death wouldn't be so heartful.

"Oh ho ho! Dear girl, I am the  
one who will make all of your  
dreams come true. The ones  
you have long hidden away."

It was the tree, the tree once  
grown and groomed by her  
mother. It was the last piece  
of her that she and Father kept.

A face was carved in the wood;  
it had not been there before.  
A kind face, one belonging  
to a beautiful young woman.

"No more tears, my girl. Tonight  
will be the night your wishes  
will be answered. You will  
be in your own heaven soon."

The face in the wood soon  
phases out, a body coming  
out with it. A body of a beauty,  
naked yet so pure and clean.  
She showed no shame of it.

"I am your Fairy Godmother,  
my dear Cinderella. I am  
the answer to the prayers  
you have uttered day and night."

Cinderella held up her torn  
rags, tears threatening to fall  
at her marred body being  
seen by the eyes of a clean beauty.

But there was no judgement.  
The mystical beauty held a long,  
slender arm and laid it against the  
girl's bare body of scars.

A stroke down ash-kissed arms,  
a pet against the bare breasts,  
rosy teats swollen from the cold  
air molesting the young maiden.

A soft moan slipped out of  
Cinderella's pale lips, torn  
between the sensation of  
pleasure, or the shuddering. 

The fairy carried on with her  
ministrations, apathetic of  
intruding on the young girl's  
sense of dignity she held on. 

"The scars you carry," A finger  
trailed down the swelling bosom,  
tracing the crescent moons on  
her navel, almost caressing her hips. 

"The Prince will not perceive them  
as repulsive," Her hands petted the  
the curves of the hips, then fingers  
curled around to squeeze the cheeks.

Cinderella wanted her to halt, yet she  
was unable to do so, too caught up  
in the touch that she perceived as  
both motherly and perverse. 

The Fairy Godmother left a trail  
of splinters in the girl's posterior,  
yet they did not puncture the skin.  
She stroked the cheeks to the thighs.

"The Prince will desire you no  
matter how much your body  
has been damaged. As long as  
your purity still remains for him."

Wooden fingers shy of the hole  
leading to the girl's virginity. Yet,  
the Fairy Godmother did not put  
any of her beautiful fingers inside.

Shivers, shudders, and moans had  
turned the ashen skin a rosy pink,  
the maiden's face was a picture  
of an eager man's fantasy. 

The Fairy Godmother went on  
her business. "Dear, Cinderella,  
you wish to go to the ball and  
meet with the royal Prince, yes?"

Sad eyes and a nod, Cinderella looked  
at the clothing she wore, torn into  
rags that barely covered her body.  
Bare and skin bruised and soiled. 

"Fairy Godmother, from the cruel  
hands of my Stepsisters and the  
cold heart of my Stepmother, I  
have no dress to wear for the ball."

But the fae merely held a hand up.  
"I will assist you in giving you the  
finish garment no maiden will  
lay their hands on, only you." 

Dancing her fingers away at work,  
the leaves surrounding the maiden  
mimicked the fairy's lovely fingers.  
Cinderella in the autumn whirland.

Cinderella felt the rags on her back  
gradually transform; something warm,  
something graceful, something pure,  
something so beautiful on her skin.

Fairy Godmother commanded the  
leaves to halt their dancing and  
rest back to the cold, hard surface  
in which they had fallen before.

"And now, there is a beautiful  
maiden before me, my dear."  
The fairy bloomed a flower  
in her palm, one like Cinderella. 

The rags had transformed into  
a dress made of beauty; a butterfly  
that came out of metamorphosis.  
Cinderella was a marvel to seek. 

But the Fairy Godmother was not  
finished. She pointed to the girl's  
feet, bare without any fine shoes  
to conceal the calloused slippers. 

"Now..." Twirling her fingers, a  
pair of slippers appeared on  
Cinderella's feet, delicate glass  
colored a glittering gold.

Cinderella was in awe of herself;  
no longer was she a tainted beauty  
with those hideous scars, but a  
pure woman with grace. 

"Now, my child," The fairy took  
Cinderella's face into her hand,  
letting her fingers curl on her chin  
like a seductive serphant.

"You cannot be at the ball for too  
long. The magic only lasts until  
the stroke of midnight. Once that  
happens, please leave immediately."

Cinderella hung on to her words with  
utmost obedience, the kind she had  
to grow as a shell against her   
step-family's demands and cruelty. 

"I give you my thanks, Fairy   
Godmother! I will head your   
warning and return home  
before your magic vanishes." 

With that, Cinderella scurried off  
to her destiny, elated that   
her fantasties will come to life,   
even for just one, measely night.

The fairy, watching Cinderella off,   
let a wicked faint smile take over   
her beautiful wooden features,   
betraying her own intentions. 

"Those slippers should be very   
snug on your precious feet.   
The Prince will certainly   
have a piece of you..."


	4. Pt. 4

The castle's ball, vast and colorful,  
filled to the brim with many brides  
in the making. Lights brought out  
the glow of healthy, smooth skin. 

The Prince, tall with an aura of  
authority and charm, stood before  
the sea of women beneath him,  
all riped for the picking. 

A handsome man, he was.  
The women drowned him  
with eyes of lust, all of them  
desiring to be devored by him.

Stepsisters Elder and Younger  
were no different; their flowers  
were nearly dripping with nectar  
even by just a mere glance from him. 

Stepmother held only greed for the  
Prince; his wealth was vast and  
filling, enough to satisfy her and  
her daughters for a lifetime. 

The Prince skeemed over the  
eager women, eyes kept on  
their generous bosoms with  
blooming buds and healthy hips. 

Never had he ever looked at their  
faces; only their delicious curves.

The face had always came last.

Yet, the Prince couldn't return the lust  
these women showered him with.  
Elder and Younger's bodies were a  
meal, yet their faces were unappetizing. 

And so were their personalities.

"These women here are all beauties,  
yet my heart's desires do not seem  
to align with theirs. Where is my  
perfect bride in this enormous sea?" 

The Prince's eyes, still searching far  
and wide, dulled so slightly at the  
women who so much yearned to  
be in his arms. Yet, he didn't feel it. 

But ears so sensitive, he heard the  
sounds of a maiden's feet clicking.  
The arrival of a beauty came last, he  
followed and felt the stars burst. 

Standing in display of the entrance,  
it was Cinderella, transformed into  
a butterfly of ethereal beauty. Everyone  
turned their heads, envy and awe arising.

Cinderella was in a state of joy;  
Her tainted scars concealed under  
garments that shamed even the most  
precious robes owned by the wealthy. 

With curious eyes, the Prince raked  
the maiden's form. Breasts pressing  
against the rich fabric, hips flaring  
out like a peacock, and those feet...

Petite, the skin was a little like  
ash, but there was a rosy quality  
to them. Compacted in those  
slippers of glass and gold. 

He wondered if her flower was  
leaking at the sight of him. Just  
as how his stinger was erected  
at the very beauty before him. 

Turned on the charm of chivalry.  
"Welcome to the ball, my lady.  
May you join me on this fine  
evening for a dance?" 

Taken by his gentlemanly front,  
Cinderella took his hand in grace.  
"But of course, your Majesty.  
Please lead the way." 

Everyone else around them cleared,  
disappearing into the shadows for  
the beautiful pair to shine on  
glorious floor of the ballroom. 

Their feet did all the talking:  
One step forward, one step  
back. Marking each step of  
the floor with love and passion. 

Stepmother, Elder, and Younger  
couldn't believe the maiden.  
The sisters glowed with jealousy,  
Stepmother suspicious of her. 

She knew that she had seen this  
maiden before; unaware that it  
was her broken down maid and  
discarded stepdaughter Cinderella.

Their feet took them to the veranda,  
under the pale reflection of the moon.  
Cinderella and the Prince shared a  
gaze, speaking of their new passion. 

Father Time had made it possible  
for the pair to know that they  
had fallen for each other, even  
for just one short night. 

"My lady, you have enchanted me  
with your pure beauty. Tell me,  
what is your name? Who are you,  
my precious little butterfly?" 

Alas, Cinderella couldn't give him  
her name. Her eyes glanced to  
see a grand clock tower, two hands  
firmly near twelve. It was time. 

"I apologize! I cannot stay here  
any longer! Goodbye, my Prince!"  
Her feet, in spite of the hard yet  
frail glass, speeded out to escape. 

The guests saw her go, yet unlike  
the Prince, they made no attempt  
to pursue this mysterious young  
beauty, a maid in disguise. 

Suddenly, as Cinderella ran, her feet  
started to suffocate. The slippers  
became snakes that constricted  
feet, blood threatening to spill. 

But she continued to run with her might. 

Then, on the steps outside, the pressure  
came undone. A knife she couldn't see  
sliced through the ankle of her right feet.  
Blood spurted, a foot with a slipper attached. 

It laid on the steps. Cinderella was  
now one foot short. Yet, swallowing  
down the pain, she hobbled back  
on path, the magic slowly fading. 

The Prince was too late. Cinderella  
has vanished from his sight. He  
knew nothing of her name, nor the  
face that he didn't bother to look. 

He saw the foot. The foot belonging  
to the woman he grew lustful of.  
He picked it up to kiss the blood,  
vowing to hunt down his new queen.

Cinderella had succeeded in making   
it home, the magic no longer there.   
She was naked, exposed, and in pain,   
yet she didn't care; she had lived her dream. 

Yet, the other slipper, it was still there.   
She kept it. The right stump of her leg,   
a broken broom handle tied as a peg leg;  
she covered it up with a long dress. 

Hoping her step family won't see it. 

In the break of dawn, the Prince   
announced to the whole village:   
any maiden missing a foot would   
become his loving bride and queen. 

The Prince was obsessed, searched   
high and low for his missing love.   
Caressing a piece of her close to him,   
becoming ecstatic from decaying skin.

He would stop at nothing to seek out   
his future queen. 

Final stop at Cinderella's mansion.   
Stepmother had only a little bit of   
time before the Prince reached their   
door. She acted on fast. 

Taking a large clever from the kitchen,   
she chopped off the Elder's foot in one   
blow. Elder cried and bled in anguish.   
"Once you're married, you won't have to walk!" 

Pain bit down, Elder was the first to go.   
The Prince presented the foot to the   
freshly-cut flesh. He spotted a mistake;   
"The heel is too large to match this foot!" 

Desperation rushed in Stepmother's veins.   
She took Younger's foot and sliced it off   
as if it were bread. Blood and meat dripped   
out, but Younger silenced her sobs of pain. 

Hobbling out to the Prince, she showed him   
her bleeding stump. Once again, he held up   
the foot and saw through the deception;   
"These toes are too long and too big!" 

Furious and despairing, Stepmother   
was to dismiss the Prince, not intending   
to send in Cinderella, for she had believed   
that she wasn't the maiden who ran away. 

"Your Majesty! Please don't go!"   
Her plans had derailed, Cinderella   
appeared to the Prince, exposing   
her poorly-made foot to him.

Without care, the peg leg was   
ripped off. The Prince held up   
her missing foot; he had found   
Her. Cinderella was his new queen.

"At last, I have found you, my love."   
He lifted the dress up, and discovered   
the scars kissing up the maiden's legs.   
Yet, his tainted love for her held strong. 

With his lips, he ravished Cinderella's   
marred legs, fingers tracing every inch   
of skin he could find. Stepmother and   
Stepsisters could only watch in shock.

Shock of seeing the Prince making love   
to their lowly maid's legs. Cinderella   
could only tremble, moan so softly   
at the Prince's carnal touch. 

She couldn't help but shudder   
when the mouth nearly reached   
her flower, intending to drink   
the nectar inside it. 

Cinderella wanted him to stop   
his ministrations despite the   
pleasure mingling with her   
discomfort. 

And so he stopped so adruptly.   
"I must not forget. Let me put   
your foot back on you, my dear   
queen." And so he had. 

Thread and a needle, he reconnected   
the foot to the pulsing stump. In spite   
of the skin still decaying and the blood   
painting the shoe filthy red, he didn't care.

With dark, loving eyes, he petted the   
lifeless foot and trailed kisses on it.   
His lips had long been dyed with the   
blood and pus of his love's foot.

"Now, my Queen, let me take you away."   
Cinderella released another shudder.   
She wondered if her dreams really   
did come true; why no happiness? 

Was losing a foot worth it?


End file.
